Carboxylic Acids and the Prosaic
by O'MalleytheAlleyCat
Summary: Set end of season 8. Kevin was just some nerd with a dream set on a fancy school and ordinary life; he wasn't the Winchesters. Sometimes he forgets that they are human too. Sam hurting from the trials, Dean doing what he does best.


**Carboxylic Acids and the Prosaic**

By O'MalleytheAlleyCat

* * *

Kevin Tran had gone through life knowing, just knowing that he was going to go to college, MIT no doubt about that one, and that he was going to work as a scientist or engineer or mathematician, and that he was going to manage to score a model wife, if he wanted one, because he would be rich. He also had gone through life knowing, just knowing, that Linda Tran was the scariest human being to walk the Earth, all five feet and one inch of her. The list went on about Kevin knowing, just knowing, because he was a smart kid and he'd spent God knows- and in this situation God definitely knew- how many hours stuffing knowing in his brain and not necessarily making sure there was a lot of understanding going along with it.

So that was why he could stare down at Sam, see his shallow breaths, could place a finger against the unreasonably large man's carotid artery and measure his pulse and know it was too fast and know that this was all bad but not really understand what to do. He could see the pale features, and the nervous twitch under Sam's skin and the way his eyes were rolling under his eyelids. And he knew that this all meant that Sam was not healthy. His brain kindly reminded him that, no shit, Sam was at the end of the trials and pretending that coughing up blood was all part of a good health regimen, really gets out the toxins, he kind of wasn't healthy. Now though, this was a more not healthy. And God, when did he forget all those fancy, complicated words that got him that perfect score on the SAT?

"Sam?" Kevin hazarded, looking down at the man and feeling like there was something he was supposed to do in this situation, but honestly AP Anatomy and Physiology had never prepared him for it.

He then hazarded a poke -don't worry, he stayed PG, Kevin Tran hadn't even hit first base and Sam Winchester was the last person he would consider doing so with, now that was something he both knew and understood- to Sam's forehead. This didn't do much and Kevin prayed that Sam would keep breathing because first base had been meant for Channing, and since he was a prophet and all, God had better answer just this one prayer. CPR wasn't something he wanted to do.

Luckily Sam kept breathing, but that was about it. The poke, however, had revealed that Sam was experiencing a rapid climb in body temperature, his homeostasis on a downward spiral like the Hindenburg. Kevin briefly considered trying to move Sam before remembering that his body was like a fragile little sapling, Sam's like a Mack truck.

His brain raced through knowing, patted it down and turned it inside out to check and make sure it wasn't all lint before realizing that he should've been doing the obvious thing. Sick Sam was a Dean thing. Kevin stood up, glancing nervously back at Sam and then continued on his way. The phone rang once and then it was answered.

"What?"

Kevin let out a sigh. Why did Dean Winchester have to sound like his mom when she talked about community college, nose turned up and full of disgust and annoyance that such a thing should waste its time even existing?

"H-hey Dean," Kevin really tried, he did, but aside from really giving his textbooks a what for -one he quickly apologized for, stroking them and begging them not to be mad- he had never had a firm or confident voice. Those moments with his textbooks had been at early hours in the morning, on several energy drinks and after reading extensively about VSEPR.

"What is it, Kevin?" There Dean went again, sounding just like Mrs. Tran with the way he pronounced his name.

"Umm, Sam, he uh-well-"

"Spit it out already, kid, you got me zoinking out here," Dean grumbled.

"He's not doing so well," Kevin whispered.

The fall out was always the worst with Dean.

"What do you mean 'not so well'?" Dean's voice was filled with wariness.

"Umm-well, y'know, fever, kinda pale, coughing-"

"So everything he's been doing," Dean interrupted again, his voice back to prompting Kevin to make his friggin' point.

"Well, you see, he's on the floor, and he won't wake up-" Kevin's voice was way too calm or whatever, because Dean let out a sharp expletive, one Kevin wouldn't be caught saying around his mom.

"How long?" Dean demanded.

Kevin dithered, how long? How long? Kevin's brain was a piece of mush which had been living on caffeine and not much else. He'd spent every waking minute translating tablets for the Winchesters, all for the ever dwindling belief that he would get out and go back to the MIT dream. For a split second Kevin felt mad, an explosive anger which like that one time he'd tried wasabi, was as spicy as it was short-lived. Goddamn Japanese horseradish.

Then he remembered he had Dean Winchester on the line, man who went to Hell, Heaven and Purgatory and was a grade A dick along with being terrifying.

"I don't know," Kevin replied rather lamely, feeling like the situation was already rather out of proportion for his abilities.

Another expletive. Kevin drearily thought of soap and how it didn't taste so great. Maybe Dean wasn't familiar with the flavor.

"Just stay there, with Sam, don't let him get worse, I'll be there."

Kevin opened his mouth but Dean had already hung up.

"Okay," he said to the mouthpiece on the phone. It didn't reply. Huh, figures he'd get thrown into the Poltergeist but miss out on Beauty and the Beast. He stared mournfully at the phone wishing forlornly that his phone would address him with a French accent and asked him to be its guest. Even when the Winchesters had invited him to their creepy end of the world bunker it had been more of a prison sentence, not a welcome. At least he didn't have to worry about dropping the soap.

Kevin let out a sigh and moved back into the bunker's war room. Sam was splayed out on the floor, one leg spawled under the table. Kevin eyed the body for a few moments. He let out another sigh and walked past it into the hallway. He came back, put Sam's head on a pillow and placed a wet cloth on his head. Sam didn't stir.

Kevin glared mulishly at the unmoving form of one Sam Winchester. Goddamn Japanese horseradish.

Time passed and Kevin got up again, he found a book and grabbed a blanket. He changed the rag when it got warm. Some time passed. He grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge and some carrots, a couple bags of ice for Sam. He placed the ice under Sam's armpits, by his head and sort of dropped one between Sam's legs with an uncomfortable wince. Then he sat down.

Munching on the carrots he stared again at Sam. He thought about AP chemistry. God, Channing had loved talking about Fischer Esterification. She'd go through the process, talk about the use of alcohol and carboxylic acids to create esters. ' _The reaction is an equilibrium Kev, an equilibrium, balanced, perfect_ ', she'd smile, face all lit up. Kevin loved Channing's smile.

' _It's not like the Grignard reaction. I like it better._ ' Kevin said he didn't get it, didn't understand her interest in something, which was to him, just another block of knowledge paved to the road of his life. She'd laughed at him. It wasn't like she was immune to his attitude, she was in the same boat on the same trip. Just sometimes things meant more. ' _It's all so ordinary, carboxylic acids are in butter, goat fat, vinegar, but somehow they're all so complex._ ' She'd sighed at that point and looked away, eyes distant.

Sam stirred a little, letting out a low moan. Kevin anticipated the giant opening his eyes and getting his butt back to his room so Dean could deal with him and not Kevin. No luck.

Kevin had seen then, at that moment with Channing, that something was a little off about it all, their lives were racing past them and despite exploring and learning about the world around them they were sheltered away in the mundane. Funny enough, despite the ache in his chest at Channing's words at that time, he now wished, oh how he wished he could just have a taste of the mundane again.

His eyes were drawn once again to Sam. The Winchesters were big scary men, nearly unrealistic figures from an unknown and frightening world. Seeing the labored breaths of the man before him he saw a sick person, not a hunter. He wondered fleetingly if the Winchesters had ever experienced the mundane, if they'd ever had someone to tell them to do their homework and wash before dinner.

Kevin stared at the carrot stick in his hand. They were supposed to be good for your eyes. Sam had gotten them for him.

More time passed, Kevin got increasingly bored and had finished his Pratchett novel. Sniffing idly he laid down and stared at the ceiling.

* * *

When the door slammed open, several rooms away mind you, Kevin knew it was Dean. The stomping was that loud. He heard the man bark out his name. Kevin closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Dean was scary.

"Kevin?!"

Dean flew into the room, saw Kevin and then saw Sam. He was on his knees in an instant.

"Sam, Sammy?" Dean was patting at Sam's face, worried, fearful, actually appearing like a human being.

Dean's head whipped in Kevin's direction.

"How long has he been like this?"

Kevin startled, biting his lip nervously.

"Since I called," he managed to answer.

Dean turned back to Sam like Kevin hadn't even spoken.

"Alright Sammy, alright, let's get you somewhere more comfy," Dean said, reassuring, scared.

Kevin was shocked by it, as always. Each time Dean went through this strange metamorphosis; from die hard movie worthy figure to a fragile man with the world upon his shoulders.

He watched Dean get an awkward hold on Sam, easing his brother against his chest. Dean whispered some things and Sam's eyes flickered open. He moaned Dean's name. Kevin blinked. Hours and Sam doesn't respond to Kevin, instead working on his acting career by going full on Adrien Brody in _Wladyslaw Szpilman_ impersonating a rock, one word from Dean and suddenly he's awake.

"Yeah, that's right, open your eyes kiddo."

Kevin's brows arched up and his mouth curved into something of disbelief and weary acceptance. Kiddo, for Sam. The hunter was closer to being the Terminator. He wondered idly if maybe the term at one point had actually been accurate. He'd rather believe that a cow could jump over the moon then picture Sam Winchester as a child.

Dean took Sam's arm around his shoulder, and stood. They started their awkward toddle towards Dean's room. Kevin sniffed again, stood up and gathered the pillow and rags and other items. He went to the laundry room first, then he followed Dean. Sam was on the bed now, mumbling something with a hand, white knuckled, gripping Dean's shirt.

Kevin leaned against the door frame and watched. For some reason the whole scene was reassuring. Here was proof that he didn't work with machines. The Winchesters were actually, honest to every Honor society meeting he'd attended, human.

Sam said something important because Dean stilled, leaned away and let out a shaky breath. His eyes flew about the room and when he met Kevin's gaze, Kevin saw tears. Suddenly the whole thing felt less amusing, less watchable. He was privy to something that wasn't his to be privy to.

"D-did you need anything?" Kevin asked quietly.

He watched Dean Winchester, badass man who he'd seen kill things that would haunt his dreams, struggle to keep from crying.

"No, Kev, we're good, thanks," his tone was soft.

Kevin gave a nod and turned away. He walked back to his room and got on his bed. Staring at the ceiling his brain threatened to run off the rails. Channing's voice came in his head, ' _sometimes I wonder what's ahead of us, what's coming_ ' she'd looked at him, brown eyes sharp. She'd been so smart. ' _I'm glad we're going to do it together._ ' Kevin had been silly enough to believe her, not the glad part, but the together.

Mundane. Kevin missed it. He'd seen a piece of it, back in the room where Dean was trying to piece together his brother. They did that every day, he realized dumbly, that was study sessions on weekends and meat loaf on Thursdays.

Kevin turned onto his side and blinked slowly. Maybe he'd go back, maybe he wouldn't. He didn't think the Winchesters were liars, but he didn't doubt that they threw themselves into believing the impossible, believing that they'd be okay. Mundane, he'd get it though, no matter how distant. The clocked ticked. Goddamn Japanese horseradish.


End file.
